


Rainy Days

by mutemail



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, During Canon, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemail/pseuds/mutemail
Summary: There's a gentle pattering of rain outside the asylum window and a heavy arm across Waylon's middle. It's day two of his adventures in the downstairs, but how will this go on?





	Rainy Days

**Author's Note:**

> This was mainly inspired by this art piece: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/89/ad/0c/89ad0cfbefe54ac4a3f59043f1112f90.png
> 
> Obviously super self-indulgent and my take on what would happen if Waylon had stayed with Eddie longer than he did. Also, if anyone has the link to the original artist posting PLEASE let me have it so I can properly edit it in! I could only find the repost on Pinterest, but I'm not super tech savvy anyway. This is also my first time posting writing publicly in a couple years so please be gentle with me but comments/feedback is always encouraged. Let me know if you liked it!
> 
> Also please excuse the huge amount of commas lol.. I'm working on it <3

Things never go quite as planned. There's always the unknown, the independent variable, the something that just throws a wrench in otherwise perfect plans. Most of Waylon's life was a series of picture-perfect ideas that were crushed underfoot. Escaping Mount Massive was precisely one of those situations. If there wasn't something currently going wrong it could be assured that something would fuck up sooner or later.

The techie stares up at the ceiling, deep in panic, but unable to move a single inch in his restraints. It's useless-- he's tried. There's not a bit of slack in any of the four ropes combined; Gluskin has had plenty of practice with this. The whirring of the saw brings him back to the present. He's only faintly aware of the man's ramblings as he's far too concentrated on the spinning blade directly between his legs. This is perhaps the worst case scenario for anything that could happen. Only Waylon Park would stumble into the devil's lair. He recalls the voices-- their proclamations of gore. The bodies heaped on the floor only attests to Gluskin's reputation. The Groom is a killing machine; even before he slipped further into insanity he was already unstable with a track record for trying to fix those of the same sex into his ideal woman.

"You have amazing bone structure. Such soft skin. You're going to be beautiful."

Disgust floods his chest. More words float by the forefront of his mind without sticking. He doesn't want to be beautiful and soft, he thinks of the scrapes and bruises that other patients have given him. He thinks of all the pale scars from his previous life with Lisa. Just her name makes his heart wrench. Will she even miss him when he's gone?

"But just try to... endure. For my sake. For the sake of our children."

Waylon twists his head away from the flies buzzing up ahead. They must be attracted to all the blood and gore. There's certainly enough around to lay eggs in and feast upon. His gut lurches at the thought, all too aware of the coppery smell that seems to be directly under his nose. In all the rooms he's been in while in the asylum, this one is by far the goriest. It's easy to imagine the white-hot pain of the saw now.

"I'll make the cut fast. Just close your eyes and think of our children."

Suddenly another figure appears from the right, flying into Gluskin and destroying the left side of the table all at once. Two birds with one stone. The two men are too wrapped up in fighting each other to notice the naked figure flipping off the table and scrambling for his clothes, gasping all the while. Waylon shimmies on the jumpsuit before making a mad dash through the door in front of the table. 

His lungs burn fiercely alongside the pain in his leg. His mind is racing nearly as fast as his feet.  _Idiot, idiot! Stupid idiot, why did you come down here?_ Gluskin follows, hot on his trail with his voice carrying through the halls with unbridled anger. Waylon turns a corner only to be met with a dead-end. Immediately he feels sick though there's nothing to throw up. The techie spins around to look at the other end of the hall. Doors line that end, one opening into an area bathed with a dull light. He dashes towards it just as Gluskin comes through the threshold.  
  
"Come back, whore! I'm not finished with you yet!"  
  
Waylon slams the door behind him, fiddling with the broken lock. In an instant, a flurry of images runs through the front of his mind. The mutilated bodies on the table. He can hear the dripping and splattering of blood on the concrete. Once more he feels the burn of the rope on his wrists and ankles. Waylon retches up a pathetic bit of bile onto the floor, narrowly missing his feet, and stumbles towards the back wall of the room. He looks around to the lockers-- it seems to be another place similar to the changing rooms he ran through before being captured. Waylon cowers behind a bench.  
  
Eddie kicks in the door, breathing heavily.  
  
"You thought you could run from me?"  
  
Waylon peeks over the bench with watery eyes. My God, he's furious. If he didn't think he would be killed before there's a definite chance staring him right in the face. Panic courses through him. Maybe their meeting is a blessing in disguise. While Eddie is a formidable foe, what if he could make him an ally? It would be temporary- nothing to write home about- and it might even help him leave Mount Massive in one piece. He worries his lower lip between his teeth nervously. All he has to do is play the blushing bride.  
  
"Eddie, don't, please! D-don't be mad! Please don't be mad, please. I can explain. Please." Gluskin closes the distance between them. Waylon notes the blood covering his hands and staining the vest. He scoots himself partially under the bench as if to protect himself, only to yelp as Eddie snatches his injured ankle to yank him from under the bolted furniture.  
  
"You have ten seconds to convince me before I string you up like the other _sluts_."

"I got scared. He startled me, when he charged at you he broke the table so I ran. I'm so sorry, so so sorry. Please don't be mad! I didn't want something bad to happen." Waylon begins to babble uncontrollably. Eddie's expression slowly begins to change from fury to something more understanding. He kneels over Waylon to cradle his head in his hands as he listens. One thumb strokes idly over his cheek in a loving manner; for now, the beast has been abated.

"Of course, how foolish of me. You were just trying to protect yourself. Don't fret, darling, that's okay. We can continue our plans from before, no?" Already be begins to pull Waylon up with a firm grip to his arms, steadying him.  
  
"N-No!" The outburst shocks them both. Waylon scrambles to recover. "Please, can we postpone it? Just one day, one day I promise, I am just so frazzled. I think I need to recover just for one night."  
  
Hesitantly, Gluskin agrees. Waylon is terribly relieved at being let off the hook for the time being. Eddie leads him back through the halls towards an unknown destination. Along the way, they chatter about anything and everything. The variant has Waylon's hand firmly held within his own. The promise of dinner encourages Waylon to fight for each painful step along the way. Once they reach the room he is led to sit on a dingy mattress while Eddie fetches a few things out of a box and begins to fix something out of view.

Finally, he turns around with a full meal of beans, bread, and a couple cups of fruit. Food has never looked so appealing in his life. Waylon suddenly takes notice of the dryness of his tongue and the empty pit in his stomach as Gluskin sets a plate of scraps in front of him on a tray. He's certain most of this was scavenged from the kitchens-- perishables, a few non, but nothing too disgusting or rotten to eat around-- but for now it could be a five-course dinner. His eyes flicker up to the other man's face as if to ask for permission before modestly picking up a cup of beans and the provided spoon. The utensil itself is wet as if hastily washed before being served. Waylon takes a small bit into his mouth with a happy murmur. Eddie takes a seat across from him on the mattress to eat his own portion.  
  
"Eat as much as you'd like, darling, there's always more where that came from." The blond glances up to settle the elder with a nod. Of course, all good things do eventually come to an end and it is only a matter of weeks, or perhaps sooner before the food runs out. He's already seen first-hand how other patients have resorted to cannibalism but the thought of the aftermath is what worries him. Will the survivors break out? What happens if no one gets free, not even himself? The thought makes his stomach churn.  
  
After Waylon has had his fill he rests himself back against the wall to finally take a moment to survey the room. The mattress itself is two singles pushed together against one corner of the room. It appears to have been some sort of office once, perhaps storage for gym equipment and the like, but anything that was here previously has already been relocated either by Gluskin or other patients. The door to the room is flanked by large windows covered with blinds and there's a table against a corner here. Piles of fabric and a few notebooks lie haphazardly on top without any seeming organization. Directly beside there are three different mannequins, each in varying degrees of blood and filth from somewhere Waylon doesn't like to imagine, and a few accessories on each.  
  
"You like the girls?" Gluskin gives a small laugh that rumbles in his chest and reverberates through the still air around them. "They are my models-- I'll take your measurements soon and fit one with your dress. Do you like lace? I already have something in mind to accent your figure."  
  
Waylon is barely given time to follow the conversation, much less respond. He resorts to nodding meekly.

"Perfect. Stand for me, darling, let me measure you." Eddie moves to his fabric table and pulls a long measuring tape from the pile. Waylon pulls himself up to stand. It only takes a few moments for Gluskin to move in close, his breath tickling his bangs and hands roaming over him. He tries not to do anything even remotely provoking in the hopes that the measurements won't take too long. The variant keeps to himself, mostly, only closing the distance between them once to layer a few kisses up Waylon's collarbone to his cheek.  
  
"I must be chaste, darling, but how I long to taste you. Soon we will be wed and we will be able to consummate our marriage. We cannot soil it." His fingers work at the cloth on Waylon's hip with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I'll take good care of you."

Once they split, Waylon finally finds himself at peace for the first time this entire journey. Since he woke up inside the engine it's been a non-stop run for his life. At least now he has Gluskin somewhat on his side to protect him. The two males stay inside the room for the remainder of the night. Eddie begins working with his fabric to fashion a general shape for the dress; on occasion, he will look over to Waylon and ask for his opinion. _How do you like the length of the sleeves? Do you think a ribbon would be a good accent here? I would think so._

Eventually, the evening turns to night, leaving the techie to struggle with the realization of their sleeping arrangement. The beds may be two together but there's no doubt of Gluskin's affections and no way to gauge how he will be treating Waylon tonight. Once Eddie retires from his sewing, he joins his bride-to-be on the bed. They fall into a spooning position with Waylon inside facing the wall and the groom outside with his back towards the closed door. He finds the silence nearly deafening.

Gluskin's arm feels like a death sentence covering his waist. In a way, he's almost too afraid to breathe in case it sets off the older man. There's nothing he needs less than to agitate him now, yet he knows this is just the calm before the storm. The patients left here are ticking timebombs. One moment you could be their friend and the next a tasty meal that was hand delivered to them. Waylon feels Eddie sink further into the mattress with a sigh. Somehow, someway, he finds this thin and dirty mattress not only fit for sleeping on but comfortable. Waylon allows his mind to drift to what the patients' living conditions could have been before. Were they one to a room? Did they have proper beds? Knowing everything that he's seen until this point, any notion of proper care for the asylum residents has the same chance of a snowball in hell. A deep feeling of sadness plagues his chest.

As they lay together, Eddie drifting off in the comfort of his new bride, Waylon trains his eyes on the far wall and listens. The downstairs isn't quite as noisy as he thought-- perhaps the other patients have learned by now that coming into this area means nothing good. It sure would fit in with the voices he heard upstairs. Waylon shifts his glance towards the stained ceiling with disinterest. There's far too much anxiety thrumming in his chest to even consider sleep as an option. What if Gluskin drugs him again while he sleeps? Or what if they're both attacked while they're most vulnerable? His lungs tighten involuntarily while he struggles to quell the thoughts racing through his mind. Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay, and if it isn't he will make it okay. He has to get out of here for Lisa's sake.

Time melds into something altogether unrealistic. Any light that could possibly fall upon the asylum has been blocked by stormclouds since God knows when. The ground outside was soggy, he remembers, and the cold sting of rain on his face had shown no signs of letting up. If he truly concentrates, Waylon can hear the faint dripping of water against the concrete floors. Gluskin shifts behind him and tightens his grip. Suddenly the rain grows thicker and a downpour splatters across the hall, soaking the bars through the broken windows, and Waylon feels a chill run up his spine. It's terribly calming.

Before he knows it, it's the next morning and Gluskin has moved from the bed. The blond is too fearful to move, only shifting when he hears a pleasant humming coming from someplace behind him, and then he rolls over to face the source. Eddie has seemingly forgotten about him for the time being while having set up shop on a cleared table. White flashes of fabric catch his eye. Waylon turns over completely onto his stomach before transitioning to stand. Immediately a shock of pain runs up his leg and he hisses. Gluskin turns around with a surprised expression that melts into one of adoration.

"Hello, darling. You're up early aren't you?" His voice shifts to a throaty hum. It's entirely too calming. "I've been working on your dress. Hopefully, I'll have it finished by tonight, perhaps tomorrow afternoon at the very latest, and then we can hold our ceremony tomorrow evening! Is that not exciting news?"

Waylon can only manage a tired mumble. He limps over to the table to slide across it to huddle against Gluskin's back. At least the variant is in a good mood as of now. It's a relief to be able to let his guard down, if only momentarily. God knows he didn't get a bit of good sleep last night. Being as vigilant as he needs to takes a fair amount of energy. He presses his scruffed cheek against the line of Eddie's spine with a breath sliding past his lips. The warmth is welcoming.

"Tired, I see. No worries. You may sleep more if you require it. I'd hate for you to grow weak from poor sleep. Perhaps later we can continue where we left off yesterday? I still have everything ready for the procedure, but I'd prefer that you are at top health before we do anything so drastic." His words are met with another tired noise. Truly, Waylon should be in a state of uncontrolled panic, but his adrenaline has temporarily stopped short, and as such he can't stop himself from relaxing against the other male.

"Sleep now, darling. We will work out the details later." Gluskin's fingers deftly work through the dress and flip the material over to finish his stitch. He holds up the clothing to the light with a proud expression. By his calculations, this should fit perfectly. By the time he begins his next line of hemming, there is a soft snore coming steadily from the figure against his back. Gluskin gently lays her down on the table with clothing scraps under her head as a makeshift pillow. "Sweet dreams." 

Waylon jerks up with a start, making the table shift below him and squeal against the floor. He looks around the abandoned room in confusion before spotting the finished dress on the mannequin. His heart drops to his feet. If the dress is already done, then Gluskin will be preparing things to fix him, meaning he has very limited time to escape. He scoots himself to the end of the table before standing and unsteadily starting towards the door. How long has he been out? It could have been any number of hours since he fell asleep; that thought is more frightening than anything. Eddie's clock is ticking down to the inevitable explosion that Waylon just isn't sure if he can survive.

The blond looks both ways down the hall before picking a random direction and heading out, more determined than ever to find that key.


End file.
